


Dreams and Practicality

by VelvetMace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Chasing, Consent Issues, Dark, Dreams, Fucked Up, Gen, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Pre-Slash, mentions of other pairings, the bite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetMace/pseuds/VelvetMace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek wants Stiles in his pack and he's not taking "no" for an answer. Stiles does the one thing he's been told never to do: run away from a werewolf.</p>
<p>Rewritten with new ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams and Practicality

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those fics that, while sticking to the letter of being gen, really abuses the spirit. It's subtexty. Very, very subtexty. And in a couple of places a bit texty.

It was not a nightmare. In fact, the dream was really, _really_ good. And that just made it so much worse.

* * *

In the dream, the house was rebuilt — Derek didn’t remember exactly how, but on the outside it was all there exactly as he remembered it. Even the wear next to the door jamb had been painstakingly recreated to be just like it was the day before the fire took everything away. Derek’s heart ached with sheer appreciation of the thought that went into that — wearing a door down just like that. Just for him. Just to give him that little piece of the past back.

Inside there were many differences. Mostly in size. There were more rooms than he remembered, all softly glowing in the golden lamplight, pushing away the moonless darkness. The furniture was odd, oversized and unusually shaped but still nice, smelling slightly of lavender and pack and dust. Outside, the rain lashed at the windows, but inside felt warm and quiet and safe. Secure.

Derek wandered randomly, exploring, delighted to see each new detail, feeling just a bit greedy that it all was _his_. His to touch and use and keep. Cherish.

The kitchen was huge, gleaming and clean, yet somehow lived in and homey. Derek saw bowls everywhere: small ones, large ones, filled with fruit and nuts, cherries, apples, and odder things like kiwis and pomegranates. On the floor by his feet sat sacks potatoes and onions. Hanging from the ceiling were garlands of garlic and chilies. Someone had spread three loaves of fresh bread like long fingers across the counter. The smells rolled over him — mouthwateringly delicious, ripe and redolent, sweet and spicy. Fresh. The refrigerators were filled with every conceivable cut of meat. Enough to feed and army for a month. No one ever went hungry in Derek’s house. Not under his watch.

In back of the kitchen was a secret door, disguised as pantry, that lead down to the den. Derek took the narrow, steep stairs down to the inner sanctum of the house. This was a good place. Safe, fireproof, bulletproof, hidden. None of the outside dangers could follow him here. This was where he kept his greatest treasure.

The noise of the outside storm was muffled and then lost. Instead he heard the steady, slow heartbeats of his sleeping pack. As he rounded a corner he saw them lying in a sinuous pile, naked arms and legs wrapped around each other, unashamed and uninhibited, lit dimly by the warm embers of a vast fireplace. The room was empty but for layers and layers of animal skins, rabbit, deer, bear, goat, piled one upon another, until it formed a thick mattress from one corner of the room to the other and lapping up the walls. He smelled richness of the hides, mingled with the sent of sweat and sex, food and satisfaction.

Everyone was asleep, their slow steady breaths caressed his ears. He should have been sleeping as well. It was late and he was so very, very tired. Too much fighting and struggling, too many worries. There was none of it here. No stench of worry or fear or anger. Only contentment and sated happiness and abundance. His heart hurt with just how perfect it all was. So beautiful. So right.

Near him, Scott cuddled into Allison’s back. His face was smooth and relaxed, confident as a beta should be. Derek could feel the power coming off of him, strengthening them all. Such a wolf in him. It felt intoxicating and precious at once. Peter never had a chance to enjoyed that strength, not the way Derek enjoyed it now, and that filled Derek with smugness. Scott had submitted to _him_. The boy had finally come to terms with his wolf, thanks to his Alpha. Thanks to Derek.

And Allison — Allison was _astonishing._. Derek sensed her wolf and felt her particular form of strength feeding the pack. For the life of him, Derek couldn’t remember how that happened, how he managed to convince an Argent to take the bite and live with it. But it filled him with an incredible predatory satisfaction. Here was a symbol of his pack’s triumph over the Argents and their hatred, cruelty, death. Especially death. Here is _life_ made even more obvious by the rounded fullness of Allison’s belly and her breasts swollen with milk. The child was Scott’s, but it was also Derek’s, as everything in this house was Derek’s.

Scott stirred. Derek knelt to cup his cheek and settle him back down. Scott pressed against his palm, the way he would never do outside of dreams. His dark eyes open languorously. “Come to bed,” he whispered. “You’re tired.” 

But Derek only pulled away. Something nagged at him. He couldn’t rest yet. He needed to remember what it was.

Derek surveyed the others, looking for the source of discontent in his paradise. Jackson, Lydia, Boyd, Erica, Isaac. They all looked so peaceful, cuddled together in a pile. Each of them had grown in a way that made Derek proud. All of them smelled so healthy and strong. Derek was glad that he could provide them all a stable home and family. Laura would have been proud. 

Someone is missing. He’s misplaced someone who should be here, snuggled down with the rest of them. Derek heard a lone heartbeat and followed it to a dark corner of the room. There, by himself, lay Stiles, looking lost and excluded in his thin pajamas. There is no wolf in him and that is simply wrong. There should be. How had Derek allowed that to be? How could he leave Stiles out in the cold? 

It seemed to him that maybe it was because he was mad at Stiles in some way and this was a punishment for being disobedient or annoying. It struck Derek’s dreaming mind as a terrible idea. One that needed to be rectified at once.

He shook the boy awake. Stiles gasped and his eyes opened wide. Sudden terror poured off his body, upsetting and yet darkly enticing. “I’m sorry — I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me.”

Derek didn’t know (want to know) what Stiles was protesting, so he ignored it. “It’s time,” Derek said. Past time. It had to happen. His body was already changing in anticipation. Stiles seemed to move in slow motion, throwing out an arm to ward Derek off, but it was already too late. Derek sank his teeth deep into his vulnerable belly. His mouth filled gloriously with the taste of blood and his mind filled with that incredible sensation of connection. And with that Stiles was _his_. All his now and forever. And now he had everyone.

He was strong now. So strong. Nothing could ever tear apart his pack again. He threw his head back and howled.

* * *

Of course, none of it was true when he awoke. It all crashed in on him as soon as he opened his eyes to the dank, dark tunnel he’d chosen to squat in and smelled the stench of oil and rust and damp cement instead of the warm smells of his dream home.

He had no home. His house, what was left of it, still stank of smoke and rotting flesh from the bodies he’d had to bury around it. His pack was a mess, with his most loyal beta being an unpredictable mass of issues. Jackson thought of him as nothing more than some off-market muscle enhancer. Boyd and Erica had lost faith in him completely and had gone _omega_ rather than submit any further to his leadership. He felt the void where they’d wrenched themselves from him like a gaping wound in his heart.

He had _nothing._ Scott rejected him every bit as much as he had rejected Peter. Allison was loyal to the Argents.

This was why the dream was so cruel, reminding him of everything he could and should be, only to shatter it to pieces every morning. Nothing Derek did seemed to help. He _tried_ being strong. He tried being kind. He’d tried being confident. None of it worked. As soon as one shitty problem was solved, another appeared, and his pack disintegrated before his eyes.

He lay on a soiled, discarded mattress, cheap sheets twisted about his legs like a snare, in the tunnel of a long discarded subway. A funk of anger and sadness weighed on the pack bond like an anvil. Derek had no idea how to fix himself either. Sometimes he wondered why Isaac stayed. 

The only person who seemed to be the _tiniest_ bit of help was Stiles, of all people. But Stiles also drove Derek nuts, playing all sides of all fences all the time. Stiles insulted then flattered him, helped and then thwarted him, endangered then rescued him. He did so with those wide innocent, _clueless_ eyes that made Derek just want to just _pin him down,_ and hold him still until he could get the damn boy to settle down and _commit._ And still, for all that, he was Derek’s most reliable ally.

Then there were worse things. Things Derek didn’t really want to think about. Things like Lydia.

Derek shuddered. Lydia’s wolf was missing entirely, like it had been ripped out leaving a space that wouldn’t hold anything else. Lydia would have been — should have been a great beta. Smart, organized, perceptive. Instead she wandered around in a daze like some sort of hollowed out shell. Immune to magic, but at what price?

Derek was pretty sure Peter was behind it, but he dared not confront his uncle, because Peter was even worse. He was a monkey’s paw wish. He shouldn’t exist. He was _wrong_. 

Peter never appeared in Derek’s dreams. Perhaps because his subconscious just wanted him gone. And how horrible was it that Derek wanted the only piece of his happy childhood left to him to go back to the grave. He’d rather feel guilty about killing him than live with what Peter had become.

Ironically enough, it seemed, Peter was also the only one who _wouldn’t_ go away. He was always there these days, seeking him out in the tunnels, lurking around the old house. Watching. Smiling. Waiting.

In the perpetual darkness of the sewer, Derek felt a keen stab of fear that went right down to his soul. Something had to change. Something had to give. He couldn’t take this anymore.

He sat up and dressed. The house may be a ruin, but he was done hiding in darkness. He’d take his risks with the Argents. He wanted to go home.

* * *

Peter was there at the house, as if he knew Derek was thinking about him. Face to face, it was hard to see anything at all wrong with his uncle. He smelled normal and looked healthy. He was just ordinary Peter, calm, sane, even comforting. He took one look at Derek and asked “What’s wrong, kiddo?” Next thing Derek knew, he was sitting on the steps of the main stairway, spilling his guts.

“Well, it doesn’t take Carl Jung to interpret your dream, Derek,” said Peter, peeling an orange in a long curling strip. He brought his clawed thumb up to his mouth to taste the juice. Derek’s sniffed at the sudden acidity of the air. “It’s not a bad thing to want stability and a large pack,” Peter went on. “It’s a good dream. Don’t fret it.” 

Peter glanced up from his fruit to take in Derek’s glum face and gave him look of exaggerated patience. 

“I know my dreams are good,” Derek replied, impatiently. “But if I can’t have what they promise, it’s just rubbing my failure in.” Derek shifted, irritatedly aware the layer of ash around him. No matter how many times he had swept and scrubbed the boards, new ash drifted down from the wrecked ceiling to cover it again. The place stank. Peter stank. No amount of oranges was going to make it smell any better.

“Failure? You give up to easy, Derek. Of course, you can have your dream, or at least most of it.” Peter let the peel fall to the ground then split the fruit in two. He silently offered one half to Derek who shook his head in refusal. “Let’s think this over logically. You haven’t asked for anything outrageous. It’s just a big project with lots of dimensions. Tackle one bit at a time. As for the house, we hire a contractor. And as for your pack, I’ll help. I fit into this happy future a lot better than your subconscious gives me credit for.”

“How can you help with my pack,” said Derek leaning forward with annoyance. “If you have advice, give it.”

“Well, to begin with, stop worrying about the bits you can’t control. Boyd and Erica may be gone, but really, Derek, no loss there. There’s a high school teeming with teenagers to bite. Maybe next time you’ll pick someone less … what’s the word I’m looking for,” Peter smirked. “Fucked up. Try a popular kid. Someone with less baggage and more self-esteem. Someone who is less of a parasite.”

“I have a popular kid. He’s called Jackson, and he wants no more to do with me than Erica or Boyd.”

“Jackson — well,” Peter ate a wedge. “You could hardly say he isn’t fucked up. But, Derek, nephew. Don’t put yourself down. Jackson’s a great success. No more kanima. No more pesky sharing him with a master. You’re his master now. All you need to do is call to him. He’ll come. You know he can’t resist — kid’s got a submissive streak a mile wide. Order him about. He’ll even like it.” Peter leered in a way that made Derek feel slightly grossed out.

“And Isaac?” asked Derek. “Is he just fine?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “At least he hasn’t abandoned you. Give him a couple of months. He’s just lost his father. Who was terrible. But still his dad. And look at you still sulking over your parents, who died six _years_ ago. You are hardly one to talk about moping.” Peter grinned. “I’d maybe tone down the beatings, though. You don’t want to call up bad memories.”

“I’m not beating him, I’m training him!” Derek protested. “He has to survive!”

“If you say so,” said Peter, stuffing his face with another orange wedge.

“Okay, Allison?”

“Kill her,” said Peter, offhandedly. “One less Argent the better. Though if you can turn her and breed her for pups, you will have my admiration forever,” he laughed and nearly choked, before spitting a chewed bit of orange out on the floor. Derek curled his lip in disgust. “Oh my god, can you just imagine Chris Argent’s face?”

Then Derek looked away and ran his fingers through his hair, grabbing and yanking it with frustration. “I know that part is ridiculous. You don’t have to mock me. Putting aside the fact that that killing Allison would destroy the fragile peace I have with Chris, Scott would turn on me. I have enough enemies without making more.”

Peter shrugged again. “Scott will get over it. They’ve already broken up. Another moon without his anchor, another close call with a hunter, which at the rate this lovely town seems to attract them, shouldn’t take long, and he’ll rethink the wisdom of being an omega. You just need to be patient.”

“Lydia?”

Peter stiffened; his hand crushed the orange until juice poured freely through his fingers. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with Lydia,” he said, his eyes flashing blue.

Derek felt his wolf leap to the fore at the challenge. “Her wolf is missing.”

“The immunity she acquired is much more important than anything she’s lost.” Peter tossed the orange away down the hall. “Listen, she’s mine, Derek, and she’s exactly as I need her to be. Don’t touch.” 

For a second the tension in the room was nearly unbearable. Derek remembered how dangerous Peter was. The wolf in him growled for dominance. The human in him cringed at the thought of yet another fight. Peter merely stared back, waiting with those calculating eyes of his, to see which way Derek would go.

Suddenly, a crippling wave of depression crushed down on Derek. He just didn’t have the energy for this confrontation. Besides killing Peter again wouldn’t solve any of his troubles. And at this point Derek wasn’t sure that Peter would even stay down. He couldn’t go alienating the only one left who _could_ give him advice on being an alpha. He sat down with a thud.

“Okay, then what about Stiles,” asked Derek, tiredly. “Any sage advice there?”

Peter looked surprised. “Stiles? Oh come on, Derek. Even your dreams know how to deal with that one.”

Derek just stared questioningly back.

“Turn him,” said Peter with exasperation. “Make him yours. Do it yesterday.”

Derek pulled wearily at his face with his hand. If only it were that easy. “He doesn’t want to be turned. I can’t convince him to change his mind.”

“What does that matter? Do it anyway.” Peter sauntered close enough to put a damp, pungent hand on Derek’s jacket. “Stiles wants to be a wolf in his heart. Just stop listening to his mouth and give him the bite. And hey, with Jackson and Isaac that makes three. You’ll have enough to be back in business.”

“I can’t turn him!” Derek stood up and paced away, shrugging his shoulder as if to get rid of the touch. “It’s not that easy to go against him. He’s got that… that _look._ ” Derek hated that look. It was half hurt-puppy, half ageless-disappointment. And for whatever reason Derek just couldn’t stand the weight of it. 

Peter sighed as if Derek were being obstinate. “You are making this much harder than it should be. Stop trying to be so damn _human_ about it. Sometimes the best course of action is the one that feels most natural. Let your wolf handle it.”

“Just give in to my wolf and let him do what he wants?” Derek asked, wiping his brow. Would that that would actually solve one of his problems.

Peter nodded, approvingly. “Simple as that.”

* * *

Three days later, Stiles shouldered opened the heavy main door of the school building. Sweet freedom at last, he thought, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. Then he opened his eyes and saw what was waiting for his. His spirits promptly sank again.

Well, fuck. Derek was in some sort of trouble again. Stiles knew it the moment he spotted him lurking between his Camero and Stile’s Jeep in the otherwise deserted student parking lot. He had that miserable, haunted look on his face. He also looked like he hadn’t bothered to shave or eat or bathe in a day or two. The man needed a caretaker.

Stiles almost felt sorry for Derek. Almost. The thing about being a werewolf is that it didn’t seem to confer any common sense to balance the strength and killing instincts. Poor Derek just seemed to always be in some kind of trouble because of it. He was truly lucky to have a someone with good sense and a complete lack of any social obligations to help him out. At the same time, it would be nice if Derek just learned how deal with his problems instead of relying on Stiles every time.

So he stopped half way down the main steps of the school and gave Derek a “come here” gesture with his chin. He then checked phone to see if by chance anyone had given him a heads up on why Derek looked like he’d swallowed a lemon whole.

“Detention?” Derek asked, appearing next to him in the time it took to check for the nonexistent messages. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Not my fault,” said Stiles, tucking the phone in his pocket with one hand and throwing up the other to ward off any questions. “Don’t give me grief about it. Blame Isaac for not controlling his damn claws. Had to make a diversion.”

Derek frowned. “I’ll talk to Isaac about it.”

Stiles suddenly felt bad. He hadn’t meant to rat Isaac out to his alpha. That was as bad as Scott ratting Stiles out to his dad. “No, it’s nothing. Really. I didn’t mind the detention. Not like I have anything better to do.” And he really didn’t. Scott was off stalking Allison, something, which, no thank you, Stiles refused to be a part of. Lydia still wasn’t talking to him, not because she was mad or anything, but simply because she never talked to him. Jackson was too much of a douche for Stiles to even _want_ his company.

“That’s good,” said Derek looking satisfied. They began walking down the steps to their cars.

“Yeah, yay for no social life!” Stiles spread his fingers and waved his hands next to his head in mock enthusiasm. “Hey, that’s something we have in common. Losers unite! Let’s form a club.” He tossed a playful punch at Derek’s very solid deltoid. 

Derek frowned again. Honestly, he was far too easy to bait.

“I want you,” he growled.

Seriously? Oh man, if Derek was going to hand him a line like that… “Of course you do!” Stiles bragged. “My milkshake brings all the werewolves to the yard.”

Stiles suddenly came to an abrupt halt as Derek caught hold of his arm and _pulled._

“Ow!” Stiles squawked. Okay, pissed off face. Time to dial it back. “Jeez, Derek. You want me. Great. You don’t have to rip off my arm. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re father is out of town for the next few days,” stated Derek. Not a question. Stiles felt a bolt of coldness go down his spine.

“And how do you know that?” Stiles asked. “Are you spying on me again? Because I thought we talked about that.” He deliberately kept his voice light and casual, tamping back the surge of annoyance and fear. It was easier to deal with Derek this way, not take the grabbing and growling and utter lack of respect for personal space too seriously. It was a werewolf thing, Stiles knew. Scott did it, too. Nothing personal. Derek probably didn’t even realize how incredibly creepy he was being. But all this pushiness could very easily escalate if Stiles didn’t nip it in the bud. “Listen, my father is not part of … anything. Leave him alone.”

“I don’t care about your father. I need you. Now.” 

Me Tarzan, you Jane… and oh, shut up, Stiles told his brain. Derek was actually being slightly more articulate than usual. There were complete sentences at least. Real human words and everything. No clue as to what Derek actually wanted him for but, hey, that was par for the freaking course, wasn’t it? 

“Alright,” Stiles said, soothingly. “No need to manhandle me. Wolfhandle. Whatever.”

Derek growled. “Get in the car.”

And by that, Stiles realized he meant the Camero, not his own Jeep. “Where are we going?”

“Just get in the car, Stiles.”

Stiles attempted to free his arm from Derek’s patented grip of iron. “As kidnap attempts go, this is totally lame,” he huffed. 

Derek, the idiot, just looked confused, as though he didn’t have the slightest idea why forcing a teenager into a car might be a bad thing.

“Dude,” Stiles spelled out patiently, “you established that no one’s going to miss me and now you are trying to pull me into your car. In a school parking lot. You _really_ have to work on the image you are trying to project. There are teachers in that building who could be looking out their window right now at us. All I have to do is cry out ‘rape’ and you are back on my dad’s shitlist. Is that what you want?”

Derek let go of his arm. “Do you trust me?”

Stiles sighed. “Yes.”

“Then get in the car. I’ll explain when we get there.” Derek paused, and then as if he were forcing himself to say something morally offensive, he choked out, “Please.”

Well, that sort of behavior should be rewarded, Stiles thought. He got into the Derek’s Camero without further fuss. “See, there, ‘please.’ That’s so much better than just dragging me against my will. One of these days, I might actually housebreak you.” 

Derek growled again, but not seriously. And wasn’t it just peachy that Stiles knew his werewolf growls so well. A moment later, Derek turned on the engine and they were on their way.

True to Derek’s word, he _didn’t_ talk about the problem, no matter how many times Stiles asked. He kept his eyes on the road and seemed both more determined and also more doubtful than Stiles had seen him in a long while. There was definitely some kind of inner war going on that Stiles wasn’t privy to. And that really bit, because what was the point of getting his help on these things if Derek wasn’t going to actually give Stiles enough lead time to come up with something? Improvisational skills only went so far. 

_Do you trust me?_ For once, dear god, it would be nice if Derek actually trusted Stiles back.

“See,” said Stiles as they pulled out of town and onto the two lane forest highway that went past Derek’s old place, “I don’t see how this is fair. You ask me to trust you and you don’t trust me back. It’s gotta be a two way street, Derek. If I don’t know what the plan is, how am I going to play my part in it? Unless it’s something that just comes naturally to me like shrieking and running or something…. 

“And, oh god, tell me that isn’t the plan! You aren’t using me as bait are you?” Stiles sat up so fast the seatbelt clicked to hold him tightly in place and wouldn’t budge no matter how he struggled against it. Now he was panicking _and_ being held in bondage by Derek’s car. “No fair, no fair! Need I remind you that my injuries don’t just heal? If I show up at home with one more black eye, my dad is going to ground me until I’m eighteen. And what exactly are you going to dangle me out in front of? Is it going to eat my face or suck out my soul or something? Do I have to actually run, because my knee’s been acting up lately. And isn’t this what you have Isaac for? Or Peter. He should be good for something. Or is this thing not into reconstituted werewolf? Oh god, it doesn’t have to be a virgin does it? Because, I’m totally not,” Stiles lied. He was speaking so fast he nearly choked on his spit. “A virgin — I’ve had lots of sex — with girls.”

Derek had the utter gall to look amused. “I don’t need you for bait.”

The panic eased up. It eased up even more when Derek pulled off the forest highway onto the familiar gravel and dirt drive of the old Hale family ruins. Oh, just here. Pack meeting or something. And now came the annoyance. 

“Wait, wait, seriously? You dragged me into your car just to take me here?” And they said that teens liked to milk the drama.

By way of reply, Derek pulled up next to the house and turned off the engine. He got out and waited for Stiles to join him. Stiles pressed the latch button, released himself from the tight hold of his safety belt, and joined Derek on the mulchy ground. The Hale house smelled like barbecue, which reminded Stiles that he hadn’t gotten his after school snack yet. It was probably too much to hope that Derek had brought him here for a surprise picnic. 

“You know, you could have texted me,” grumbled Stiles. “I _know_ where your house is and I do have a car.”

“We need to have a talk,” said Derek, all serious. “I didn’t want you jumping back into your car in the middle of it just because I said something you didn’t want to hear.”

Stiles let that sink into his brain for about two seconds. “So-ooo… you don’t want me to be able to leave until you are ready to let me go. And we are off in the woods… alone… together.”

Derek nodded. “Yes.” He pulled off his jacket and laid it on top of the car’s hood. Stiles was suddenly acutely aware of just how many muscles Derek had going on under his tight t-shirt. The man oozed strength in the same way that Stiles was oozing fear. The gears in Stiles mind were racing in neutral, then suddenly one seemed to click in.

“You actually _kidnapped_ me,” Stiles accused. “You… that … back at the school … I just got into a car with a kidnapper!” He slapped himself in the face hard enough it stung. “Uncool, Derek! Uncool!”

“You got into my car voluntarily,” Derek pointed out patiently, but Stiles knew that was just rules lawyering.

Stiles backed away until there was a good ten feet between him and Derek. It wouldn’t actually help him much if Derek decided to beat him up or something, but it made him feel better not to be within arm’s reach. 

“Okay then,” said Stiles, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that he hoped looked determined and commanding. “New rule. I take my own car where ever we go. Because — and maybe you don’t realize this — being held somewhere against my will totally does _not_ make me more receptive to whatever it is you are going to tell me. And by the way, do I trust you? No. Not anymore I don’t. Congratulations on ruining that.”

Derek pursed his lips and looked off to Stile’s side with what seemed very much to be guilt. “I’m sorry. I don’t know any other way to handle this.”

“Well, you could start by trusting me.”

“I can’t,” said Derek, glaring at him. And oops, there was a red glow. Trust is a sore spot, Stiles noted.

“Why can’t you?” he wheedled, trying his best to seem nonconfrontational. “When have I ever let you down? Except for that time I falsely accused you of murder. That doesn’t count.”

“I don’t know whose side you are on,” said Derek. His eyes faded to hazel and that familiar, helpless, _I’m too inarticulate to actually explain myself_ look washed over his face. “One day you help me, the next you side with Scott against me. Then I see you talking to the Argents. Then you disappear and don’t tell any of us what’s going on. How can I trust you Stiles? Whose pack are you in? Whose side are you on?”

Oh good _grief._ Derek was having some sort of existential alpha crisis and, being the bonehead he was, decided now was the perfect time to pick a fight with the one person in the universe who wasn’t causing him problems. Stiles tapped his fists against his head in frustration. 

“First, I’m not in anyone’s pack. I’m human, we have friends, not packs. Second, I’m on the side of goodness and decency and people not getting killed. So as long as you aren’t acting like a monster, we’re on the same side.”

“What are we, Stiles? You aren’t my beta, but you let me — you insist — that I use you like one. What are we to each other?”

“Allies!” said Stiles. “Friends!” Derek frowned harder. “Okay, acquaintances. Sheesh.”

“I can’t do this,” said Derek. “I can’t have friends. Or acquaintances. I need a pack. I need people who I can rely on _all_ the time, who won’t go behind my back or not bother to tell me what they are up to. This isn’t working for me.” 

Ouch, thought Stiles. Rejected. He sighed, shunting the hurt off into a corner to deal with later, because right now Derek was getting hairy and that was a bad thing. 

“Okay. Okay.” Stiles held up his hands in surrender and edged further back across the dirt and weed clumped expanse that Derek called a yard. “I’m backing off, Derek. You don’t want me in your business, I’m out. No need to go all wolf on me. Scott and I will just leave you out of what we do. You don’t call us, we don’t call you.”

“Not good enough,” said Derek. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them in a way that, if Stiles didn’t know better, would be menacing.

Stiles stepped back again, feeling with his feet to make sure that he wasn’t going to put his foot into a hole or trip on a log. He dared not take his eyes away from Derek for a second — the wolf took lack of eye contact as a sign of submission and right now that would be bad. He needed to be firm and not let Derek think that he could bully him. Derek would back off. He’d done so plenty of times in the past.

“Listen,” he said. “You are the one telling me we can’t be friends, not me. That’s your choice. You can’t cut me out then dictate who I hang out with or what I do. That’s not your business.”

“This is my territory, Stiles. You can’t leave me out of it. What happens here is my business.” He was creeping up on Stiles again, his mouth set in that nasty grin he got when he was about to do something bad.

So much for being assertive. Stiles broke eye contact and took a few more steps backwards and tried to calm his racing heart and recollect his thoughts. “Okay then. Okay! I’ll try to ignore the dead bodies stacking up. I’ll try to get Scott to, too. We can lie low while you get your territory in order. Jesus Christ, Derek. Chill out. Drink some herbal tea or something.” 

“Still not good enough,” said Derek, darkly. He began to pull up his shirt, showing off his sculptured abs. And holy cow, was he built. It’d be sexy if Derek wasn’t using his physique to intimidate him. Which he totally was and now Stiles really needed to have his survival instincts come on line and get him out of this before it escalated into a beating. Stiles felt his mind slipping out of gear again and randomly racing.

“I don’t believe you’ll stay out,” Derek went on. “It’s not your nature. I don’t want you to stay out, either. You are too useful. I need you.” Derek tossed his shirt on the ground and was now going for his belt buckle.

Oh Christ! Oh Shit! Stile’s mind gibbered. Forget a beating, Derek was going to wolf out _all_ the way. As in Alpha form. And that meant one of two things: either a gory death or the bite. 

“No, Derek,” Stiles said, dividing his attention between the ground behind him and the wolf in front of him, he put up a hand for good measure, as though that might provide a barrier. “I said no to Peter and I’m saying no to you. I don’t want to be a werewolf.”

“Who says I’m giving you a choice.” 

Fear sizzled through him, burning down his spine and out each of his limbs. Stiles brain fished out in five directions simultaneously. “This isn’t like you, Derek!” he cried out, desperately. “You are under the influence of something. Maybe poisoned. Or brainwashed. Where did this idea come from? Why now?” Then it clicked. “Oh, god, it’s because you are down two, isn’t that it? Boyd and Erica aren’t there to make you stronger anymore. You only have Isaac and Jackson in your pack and you need three for that proper Alpha super power-up. But you don’t need me for that. You can bite anyone and make them pack. There are lots of people —“

“I don’t want lots of people, I want you.” Derek stopped advancing long enough to pull a boot off and toss it over his shoulder.

“Why?” whined Stiles, helplessly. He was backing into the tree line now. He nearly stumbled as his foot caught on a low woody bush.

“Because you are useful, Stiles, and we work well together. I want you in my pack. And because if I don’t take you someone else will. It’s too late for you to stay out of this. My enemies will target you for what you know and your importance to me. But if I turn you, I wouldn’t have to worry about you being hurt.” Derek pulled off the other boot. “You could defend yourself.”

“But don’t you see,” said Stiles, excitedly. “I’m more useful to you as a human. I can do that thing with the mountain ash —“

“Works against me as much as it does my enemies.” 

“Deaton is teaching me other things! Magic.” Stiles continued to back away, putting fifteen feet between them. Twenty. Derek’s house vanished behind the tree trunks, but nothing seemed to get between Derek and him.

“You think werewolves can’t learn magic? Peter has a talent for it. When you are part of my pack, he can teach you what he knows.”

“Oh yes, well Peter,” said Stiles, stopping. Suddenly it all made sense. “Why is Peter still around? Talk about enemies, he’s like this undead werewolf omega thing. You don’t trust me, yet you trust him? Are you insane?”

“He is helpful.” But Stiles saw with relief that logic was starting to have some effect. Derek’s claws were retreating. Stiles clung desperately to that.

“And is it his idea to turn me against my will?” Stiles eyes widened. “It totally is, isn’t it!”

“It’s my idea. It solves everything.” Derek’s eyes softened. The red glow faded and just for a second it looked like maybe the human Derek was back in charge again. “I really don’t want to bite you against your will. Say yes.”

“You don’t want to bite me against my will, then _don’t!_ ” said Stiles, bending over with the sheer explosive force of his words. “I don’t want it. Whatever trust issues you have with me, we can work on. I’ll help you. But, Derek, I know he’s, like, the last bit of your old family left, but you really need to get rid of Peter. Nothing comes back from the dead without a price and you don’t want to be the one paying it.”

Derek seemed thoughtful for a second, but then his eyes reddened again. Oh shit. “Peter isn’t the issue right now. You are. Now are you going to lift your shirt for me?”

“No,” said Stiles, staring Derek in the eye determinedly, because that’s what you had to do when a werewolf was trying to make you submit to something stupid. “No shirt lifting or biting. I’m calling Scott to come pick me up and I’m walking back to the road. You can stay here and work out your issues.”

“Wrong answer,” said Derek. And with that he leapt forward onto all fours. Between one second and the next, his body grew hairy, clawed and toothed. His jeans were kicked off then he paced forwards, all animal, lips curled in a snarl. There was no more reasoning with him.

Stiles’ hand went for his phone, then he realized by the time he had it out and had called Scott, Derek would have already knocked him down and bitten him. _Never run from a werewolf,_ Scott had once advised him. _It’s an invitation to be chased._

But there really wasn’t any other choice. Stiles ran.

* * *

For just a moment it looked like Stiles had surrendered to the inevitable. He’d stopped retreating and just stood there, facing Derek’s alpha form, eyes wide and fear pouring out in intriguing waves. The wolf reveled in the situation. Politics and rules and the complicated, contradictory nature of human feelings went over its head, but it understood biting. Biting was _awesome_. Biting was fun. Biting was security, and sex, and dominance, and power. And here was its prey, its packmate to be, positively vibrating with energy and making every muscle in the wolf’s body tremble with excitement.

The only thing holding it back was a thread of unease. Its human side worried that there was some hidden danger in what it was doing. The wolf didn’t like that at all. Normally it would have switched back to beta or even human form to assess the situation, but it was also his human side that had urged the alpha forward in the first place. Human him apparently wanted to get into trouble. Perhaps trouble was good.

Nonetheless the alpha hesitated before pouncing, sniffing the air for intruders or traps, the things that both parts of Derek’s nature worried about. Other than the unsettling smell left behind by Peter the day before, it detected nothing. No poisons, no crisscrossing of humans across the property, nothing more lively than the odd squirrel and a few crows up in the tree tops. Stiles was alone, unarmed, and waiting to be taken.

Then unexpectedly, Stiles spun around and took off as fast as his trendy running shoes would take him. Human Derek would have said “wrong move, stupid.” Wolf Derek merely burst with joy at the prospect of a chase.

They were off. Stiles kicked up clods of moist forest dirt as he ran. His arms flailed comically, grabbing hold of tree trunks and bushes to steady his gawky body. At times he went down on all fours like the world’s clumsiest beta, only to stagger back up and dash further. The alpha could have pounced and plowed the boy to the ground in seconds, but where was the fun in that?

Secure in the notion that Stiles couldn’t get anywhere the Alpha couldn’t follow, the the wolf slowed its pace. It sniffed a spot where Stile’s had shoved his hand deep into the soft loam. The odors of sweat and stress and hunger played across its sensitive nose, along with just the most tantalizing trace of everything that Stiles had touched since the last time he’d washed his hands. Books, blackboard chalk, dust, ink, Scott, one of the teachers, potato chips, and the Camero. Derek nuzzled around seeing if he could pry any more information out of the surrounding area.

He was procrastinating. Giving his prey time to get far enough ahead to make the chase interesting. It had been so _long_ since the wolf had been allowed to chase human prey through the woods. There was nothing quite so thrilling as running down a creature who might actually be able to out think it.

Derek looked up, snorting away traces of dirt that clung to his nose. Stiles was well out of sight now. From the sound, he was a good four, five hundred yards east and headed in a slightly curved arc to the shallow gully. His scent trail was so bright and obvious to that the wolf was tempted to dally even longer just to make it more of a challenge. But that was getting away from the real purpose. Instead he began following the trail at a leisurely pace, stopping to sniff each place where Stiles had laid a supporting hand, or where a drop of sweat had fallen to the ground.

He was just working his way down the steep sides of the dry creek bank when Stiles abruptly stopped making noise. Derek’s instincts pricked up and the wolf considered the possibility that he might actually lose his prey. Not going to happen! With that, the wolf leaped forward, covering the ground in quick nimble bounds, it’s tongue lolling out to meet the still flavorful air. Grace period was over. The game was on.

* * *

Stiles was dead. He was dead. He was sooooo dead. There was simply no way in the world he was going to be able to outrun Derek. But he couldn’t stop. The forest seemed to blur in front of him until he could barely see beyond the five feet directly in front of his feet. He concentrated on finding his footing with a focus that utterly defied his ADHD diagnosis. If he could have just channeled this much pure single minded effort into, say, his tests, he could _write_ his collage acceptance letters. And, shit, bush!

He felt the tangled web of yew branches snag his ankle and he tripped forwards, grabbing a handful of sapling leaves in one hand and clawing the ground in front of him with his other. He kicked free of the obstacle, crawled forward a couple of feet, and then was back up and dashing forwards again. Somewhere in that his shoelace had come untied and he could feel it getting pulled and stepped on, but he was moving fast enough that it wasn’t tripping him yet. He didn’t have the time to retie it.

He thought he could hear Derek just behind him, snapping twigs and rustling leaves, but it might have just been the echo of the noise of his own frantic running. Though he was braced to feel the pressure of teeth or claws on his legs, it never came. Instead there was nothing but the burn of his muscles and the pressure of the plants battering and scratching him as he pushed through. The sound of his breath seemed deafening as it bellowed in and out of his lungs.

Go, go, go, he urged himself in Coach Finstock’s voice. This was just like rushing on the field only with less lacrosse sticks and more claws. Stiles might not have the bulk of the other players but he could run like a s.o.b. That was his hidden power-up. He was like the Flash — Super Stiles — can outrun a rabid werewolf in — in — god only knew how many seconds. Hopefully not many more because he wasn’t kidding about the knee twinging. 

Oh shit — cliff!

By the time Stiles saw the drop off, it was too late for him to avoid going down it. The ground simply gave way to a steeply slanted wall of reddish earth. He shifted his weight and found himself half hopping, half sliding down the crumbling bank, his hands grabbing at plants around him. After a harrowing half-second, he managed to shift his weight backwards to keep his feet under him and used gravity to help pull him down in a controlled fall. At the bottom of the little valley he stopped sliding and started bounding forward, grateful for the grace of a benevolent god that he hadn’t broken his neck. Conservation of momentum and kinetic energy made the subsequent climb up the far bank totally easy. Woot! His body was bad-assing it on the practical physics.

On the far side his lacrosse training kicked in again. Jumping the dense clumps of bushes and undergrowth to find places to put his feet was not unlike running the tires that Coach set out. Muscle memory kept his body upright even as he had to throw his legs farther out one direction or another than his initial balance could cope with. He felt light, practically floating over the uneven ground. 

Suddenly, he burst through a last bit of heavy underbrush and stumbled out into an area where all the trees were so large and developed they’d pushed the undergrowth nearly out of existence. The thick tree trunks forced Stiles to serpentine around them. Late afternoon light was dimmed by the dense canopy above and gave everything a kind of otherworldly grayness. Below, the ground was springy with matted pine needles. It was almost like running in a bouncy house. It’d be fun if not for the the fact that the needles were so slippery and there was a bite-lusty werewolf on his tail.

He pushed on, ignoring the stream of sweat burning his eyes and the way a stitch had started stabbing his right side. Coach Finstock would be praising him right now on his splits. He could do this. Eventually he was going to hit something, a road, a house, a familiar patch of forest. Just had to go on. On… on.

Eventually, inevitably, he couldn’t keep up the pace. He must have run a good mile by now at this crazy sprint, and there just wasn’t enough air in each breath to keep up with the demand. Stiles was forced to slow down then come to a shaky stop. He alternated sawing pants with frantic swallows, trying to work up enough spit to lubricate his dry scratchy throat. The last thing he wanted to do was to start a coughing fit. Sweat dripped into his eyes, warm and stinging and he leaned over, grabbing his knees for support.

This was his first opportunity to look back at where he’d come from. He he did so with such a sense of dread that a fresh wave of adrenaline coursed through his body. He shivered, expecting to see Derek’s dark bulk come bursting around the tree trunks any moment, but as time slowly eked by, nothing happened. When he caught his wind back enough that he could hold his breath for half a second, he couldn’t hear anything. Not even the sounds of normal wildlife.

Where the hell was Derek?

Stiles stood up straight. Maybe asshole had given up. Maybe by running Stiles had made it clear to him that “no” meant “no.” Maybe it was all just a practical joke on Derek’s part and he was back at the Camero laughing his tight little werewolf ass off. The fucker.

With that Stiles burned with anger. He had half a mind to kick Derek’s butt for this. This was so beyond uncool, this was criminally assholish. It would take a lot, and he did mean a _lot,_ of groveling before Stiles was going to forgive him. Derek could deal with his alpha problems without Stiles from now on. And if Stiles ever had the opportunity to do it, he wasn’t going to _hesitate_ to cut Derek’s arm off. Grow that one back, jerk.

Then just as abruptly, the anger just faded away. He was too tired to deal with this shit. All he wanted now was to get home, stuff his face with something sugary and unhealthy, and take a nice hot shower. Then he’d yell at Scott about what complete shits werewolves were.

Stiles sighed. He had his breath back. There was still no sign of Derek.

He looked around. Though he was well off any path, he was actually pretty familiar with this part of the forest. Scott got bitten not too far from here, and which meant the forest highway was off — he spun about — that way. He sighed and started hiking up the hill toward the road, fishing his phone out of his pocket as he went.

* * *

Derek crouched low to the ground and watched Stiles catch his breath from behind the root boll of an old oak. His fur bristled out, sensitive to the faint air currents, and his nose moved left and right to catch the subtle interplay of scents his prey was putting out. He caught the moment when Stiles seemed to think that he was safe again. The sharp sting of adrenaline shifted to the muskier scent of anger. He tamped down his urge to growl and give away his position. 

Anger wasn’t good. The wolf interpreted anger as a challenge, and challenge meant fighting, clawing, tearing. Derek didn’t want to fight Stiles and leave him in the hospital. He didn’t want Stiles to suffer and perhaps be too weak to accept the bite. He definitely didn’t want Stiles to die. He just wanted to _chase_ him, wear him out, then force him to submit to his fate. Thankfully the moon was closer to new than full, and there was enough human in him to moderate his wolf’s instincts.

Stiles sighed and began walking slowly Northward. Derek knew the ground here, and evidently so did Stiles, because there was a bend in the Forest highway just another couple hundred feet in that direction. He followed silently, his paws making almost no sound in the dense layer of sodden leaves. Stalking slowly up on his prey from behind.

Stiles pulled a phone from his pocket.

No good. This was between Stiles and him. He didn’t need Scott trying to interfere. Or worse, an Argent.

Derek rushed forward, grabbing the phone out of Stiles hand with his teeth and then nearly flipping sideways to change trajectory and hide behind a bunch of bushes. He spat the phone out on the ground then held still. Stiles’ shriek ringing loudly in his ears.

After a few seconds the screams stopped. There was a moment of silence, then Derek heard him say, “Fucking, _ow!_ ”

The alpha moved his head so that he could see between the leaves. Stiles was turning in circles, staring about wildly and shaking his hand like it had been stung. “Derek!” he called out. “I know you are there! Why can’t you leave me alone!” His voice rose in a whine. “I’m serious, this is not cool. This isn’t fun.”

The wolf in Derek begged to differ. This was heaps of fun. It’d be even better when Stile started running again. Derek hadn’t even come close to being worn out by the game.

But Stiles just stood there, waiting, sending out waves of anger scent that irritated the wolf. Derek pushed himself further back into the bush to keep away from the scent. Why couldn’t Stiles start running again? Or being frightened? Or resigned? Or any number of emotions that didn’t trigger Derek’s need to claw things to bits?

_Act like prey damn it,_ Derek willed. _Don’t you have any idea how dangerous this is for you? Picking a fight with a werewolf?_

But Stiles merely turned his hands into fists and began walking determinedly towards the road.

Derek, silent as breath, circled around, giving a wide enough birth that Stiles couldn’t see him as he ducked around the old-growth trees. Though out of sight, Stile was never out of Derek’s awareness. He caught whiffs of his scent on the eddying air currents and heard each crackling footfall echoing off the tree trunks. Stiles moved slowly and cautiously, but with little stealth until he reached the bottom of the hill under the road itself. 

Stile’s smell had shifted from anger to hopeful excitement when he caught sight of the road. Derek felt relief as the wolf’s instinct to protect itself melted into a desire to fetch and play and tease his prey into running again. Derek silently moved forward to position himself between Stiles and his goal, curious to see how close the boy would get before he looked up from his feet.

Derek’s mouth opened and his tongue lolled out in a predatory smile, and his heart quickened with excitement. Closer. Closer. Derek let out just the quietest growl, almost as if by accident.

Stiles froze. Fear burst out his skin, perfuming the air so invitingly that Derek couldn’t hold a louder growl back.

* * *

“Shit,” said Stiles, staring at the Alpha crouched uphill from him. For once, why couldn’t Derek be the jerk that Stiles hoped he was? A jerk was so much better than a monster. A jerk could be forgiven.

The worst part of it was, that it wasn’t as if Derek had snapped and had turned into an unreasoning beast. Every action the alpha took had a premeditated quality. Taking his phone. Driving him into the woods. Hell, kidnapping. How the hell were they ever going to come back from this?

Stiles felt tears starting to form in his eyes. This fucking sucked. He’d considered Derek a friend of sorts. But after this? How could he?

Even now the Alpha was just waiting there, not attacking. Drawing this out more as if it were some fun game. Asshole.

…Or maybe Derek had doubts on what he was doing. Maybe that hesitation meant there was just the slightest bit of humanity left under that shaggy, glowy-eyed exterior. Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. That was actually an awesome thought. He could totally work with that.

“Listen Derek,” Stiles said, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “I know you are in there. Just come back for a moment. Let’s talk this through.”

The alpha turned its head to one side as if considering. The glow in its eyes seemed to dim a few watts.

Encouraged Stiles went on. “You want me to accept the bite and be one of your betas. And okay, okay, _maybe_ I could go for that if you used a bit of persuasion. But this isn’t persuading me. You keep this up and you’ll make me a werewolf, I can’t stop that, but I won’t be your beta. I’ll go omega like Scott. And what use to you is that? One more lone wolf on your territory — surely you don’t want that.”

It seemed as if he might be getting through to Derek. The alpha was changing shape, reverting back to human, and oh, god that was gross looking the way the bones and muscles all shifted, like big insects fighting under the skin, popping and squirming. A moment later Derek crouched in front of Stiles in beta form. Naked. Wow that was way more of Derek than Stiles had _ever_ expected to see.

He averted his eyes for a second before curiosity won out over propriety and he looked again. This time Derek was fully human and even more naked without all the fur covering him. And an impressive piece of manhood he was! The muscles weren’t confined to his upper half. And was he just a little bit hard there, or was he a show-er? Hopefully he wasn’t one of those who were growers _and_ showers, because Stiles already felt inadequate and he wasn’t sure he could bear to be outmanned that badly.

And fucking ADHD, this wasn’t what he needed to be thinking about. Survival. Who knew how many seconds Derek was going to give him before he just reverted back and bit him.

Derek sighed and stood up fully, crossing his arms in front of his chest with out even a tiny shred of awkwardness at the whole exposed bit. “What can I say that would persuade you, Stiles?” he asked.

“I…” Stiles thought. His mind whirred ineffectively for a second. Then he blurted: “Well, okay, what are my chances of turning into a werewolf and not a kamina or a corpse or a whatever Lydia is? Seems to me that it’s a bit of a crap shoot. I mean, if I just die on you, then you’d get no beta and I’d get no nothing.”

“You aren’t going to die,” said Derek, clearly thinking the question was stupid. “Those who die are the ones who panic and fight the bite. You are young and healthy, flexible in mind and have a strong will to live. There’s a reason I choose teenagers to turn, Stiles, and it’s not because I’m a creep.”

_Says the naked man to the boy he just kidnapped and chased through the woods._

“You’ve worked with me in the past, Stiles. You may be angry right now, but you like me. When you feel what it’s like to be in a pack, you won’t be in a hurry to turn omega. It’s better than you think it is.”

“Scott didn’t seem to think so.”

“That’s because Scott has never felt what it was like to be part of a real pack. He only felt Peter’s rage and lust for vengeance. You’ll feel something better. Communion, comfort, belonging, love.” And boy could Derek just say that in a dryer voice? He might as well have been saying tests, training, chores, hangnails. From the way Boyd and Erica reacted, perhaps Derek’s idea of comfort was doing chores.

“Wow,” said Stiles, unconvinced. “Well, yeah. That makes it sound like joining a very lovely cult.” Derek glowered more. Stiles quickly pushed on. “Okay, but what if I don’t turn into a werewolf? What if I turn out like Jackson? I don’t want to end up being someone’s slash-happy meat puppet.”

Derek shook his head emphatically. “You won’t. That — what happened to Jackson wasn’t not normal. That was my mistake.” Derek’s voice sounded bitter and his eyes turned away with guilt. “I thought he was a spoiled brat and I didn’t want him in my pack. It was irresponsible on my part. He needed a pack more than either of us were willing to admit. He couldn’t — can’t survive the loneliness of being an omega. So his wolf found someone who wouldn’t listen to his words and didn’t care about his personality. Someone he couldn’t drive away.”

Derek twisted his face ruefully, as if he’d just come to an unpleasant realization. “Peter was right,” he murmured softly. “I should…”

“No Peter is _not_ right!” Stile objected. “Peter is never right. You don’t go thinking that.”

“Jackson’s issues aren’t yours,” Derek continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I won’t do that to you.” He looked at Stiles expectantly again. The hope in his smile made Stiles wince.

No, no. I don’t go down this easily. Stiles fished about. “But what if it just doesn’t take? Like Lydia. She almost _died_.”

“You aren’t like Lydia,” said Derek firmly. “And I’m only going to bite you, not claw you to shreds.”

“But how do you _know?_ ”

Derek huffed. “This is getting nowhere. You are going to have to trust me, Stiles. This is the best. Now either lift your shirt or run away and we’ll do this again. Either way my wolf will be satisfied.”

“You like chasing me,” accused Stiles, pointing at him.

Derek grinned fiercely. “It’s more fun than you can imagine.” He was already starting to shift.

“Well, then, you are just going to have to settle for fun,” said Stiles defiantly. “Because the answer is still ‘hell no!’”

Derek raised a bristly brow. “I’ll give you thirty seconds head start. One… two…”

Stiles turned and raced off again.

* * *

Derek didn’t wait long this time before taking charge of the chase. He started by steering Stiles deeper into the trackless woods and away from the road and town. This was wolf business. There was no reason to bring random humans into it. Stiles would be reborn to the pack the way the Hales had been for hundreds of years: in the wild.

Stiles hadn’t exactly got with the program. He kept trying to make a break for the forest road. Every time the boy made a dash in that direction, Derek sped up and put himself between Stile’s and his goal. After the third time, Stiles seemed to understand the way was blocked and took another tact, sweeping deeper but purposefully into the woods. Derek wasn’t sure what Stiles thought he was up to, but he didn’t protest it. Eventually Stiles would be too worn out to fight anymore and when Derek asked him once more to lift his shirt, he would see the futility of it all and comply.

But Stiles hadn’t reached that point yet, even though he was definitely starting to slow down. Derek easily paced him, two dozen feet to the side, watching the the boy’s head turn from side to side, almost as if he were looking for something. It occurred to him, belatedly, that Stiles might get desperate enough to pick up a stone or a stick and try attacking, as though he had no chance winning the battle. Crescent moon or no, if Stiles _hurt_ Derek in this form, he’d rip him to shreds before he could stop himself. The thought brought a shudder through Derek’s body and made his fur stand on end.

_Please, Stiles, have better sense than that!_

He growled, deep and resonantly. This wasn’t like his earlier, playful growls. It meant business.

Stiles responded by sprinting even faster. Good. The quicker he wore out, the better. It was time for this chase to end.

* * *

The growl echoed in Stiles ears as he madly dashed away. Not a fun sound. No that was a _mad_ sound. It was almost as if Derek knew Stiles’ plan, which seemed impossible because Stiles hardly knew his plan. Moreover, Stiles wasn’t at all sure his plan would work in the amount of time he’d been given, partially because he couldn’t do it right, and partially because he definitely wasn’t in the right mindset for doing magic at all. 

Oh it was all well and good to meditate and focus in the quiet back room of Deaton’s veterinary clinic. It was another to try to do it when he was hungry and exhausted and had a fucking werewolf snapping at his heels.

But he had to stay positive, because running wasn’t going to cut it and neither was doing something stupid like beating Derek off with a stick.

There _was_ mountain ash in the area (he knew only because Dr. Deaton had taken him on a field trip looking for some — wild grown was better than cultivated for the purposes of magic), but it wasn’t native to the area, and it definitely wasn’t common. Furthermore, even if he found a tree, who was to say that hugging it would give him any protection at all. Proximity to mountain ash didn’t carry the same protective qualities as making an unbroken circle. And even if he could make the protective magic work, Derek could just wait him out. His dad was out of town until Sunday afternoon. No one was going to miss him.

But maybe it would give him time to think up something better. And in any case, Stiles wasn’t ready to give up yet, though he did need to catch his breath.

Derek, the fucker, had circled ahead of him and rushed him from the side as soon as he slowed dow. He didn’t touch Stiles as he passed but he did force him to speed up again. So much for a break. At this rate Stiles was going to drop from exhaustion before he found a damn mountain ash tree. Did he even really remember what it looked like?

And this wasn’t positive thinking. He really needed to focus. He needed to —

Apparently what he needed to do was finally step on that untied shoelace and trip face first into the ground, because that’s exactly what happened. The ground was soft enough to his face not to stun him, but hard enough to hurt like the bajeesus. And cold. And just a bit slimy. He hardly had time to scramble forward to his knees when he felt a tugging and a dangerous warmth against his ankle. Then just as suddenly as he felt it, it was gone and Stiles was up and running again.

Only this time his left foot seemed to go about an inch further to reach the ground, and when it did so, the ground felt distinctly wet and not shoe-like at all. Stile’s stride was thrown off and his ankle wobbled and his knee twinged. His shoe was missing!

Stiles considered just for a second turning around and looking for the shoe. _Maybe Derek will let me find it and put it on, just for fair play_. Yeah, no, that wasn’t going to happen. Derek had pulled it off for a reason. He was trying to hobble him or something — as if being worn out, out of breath, and human weren’t handicapping enough. Stiles’ lungs burned and his muscles twitched. All his joints up his left side _ached_ with every uneven stride. Ah god he couldn’t keep this up much longer.

Ten strides later Stiles gave up. He couldn’t run with only one shoe on. He’d never considered before how thick the soles of his running shoes were. The trajectory Derek had set him on now, had him heading downslope into a more bushy area, where his poor unprotected foot was more likely to get stabbed to pieces by the flora or battered to bits by gravel. He staggered to a stop.

“Not … fair,” he called to Derek between gasps. 

“I’m not trying to be fair,” Derek called back from uphill. “I’m trying to get you to surrender. You keep running, I’m going to keep chasing, but you might as well stop now.”

“I can’t,” whined Stiles. Because he really couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. All this supernatural stuff was cool and important, but he was only sixteen and this was the rest of his life. He wanted the option of being able to walk away from it if it ever got to be too much for him. He had college, a career, family all ahead of him. He didn’t want to be hunted down. He didn’t want some killer instinct taking over his body and putting the people he loved at risk. Maybe the Argents were right — it was better to die than to succumb. But he didn’t want to make that choice. He just wanted to fucking finish his sophomore year of high school. 

He looked over his shoulder in time to see Derek switching from human to beta form, then falling forward into full wolf, and he knew he wasn’t going to get that option.

Stiles started running again. He turned to look forward just in time to miss smacking his face into the trunk of a maple, but not in time to miss tripping over the spreading roots. He tumbled forward again, saving his face at the expense of his hands. He managed to scramble onwards but this time when he tried to stand up, he felt a mighty tug at his waist. He fell sideways, then felt himself being dragged, stomach down back over the roots and through a layer of mostly decomposed leaves. His hands flailed out but couldn’t find any purchase. 

Derek had him by the belt with his great big alpha teeth. Stiles felt the heat and breath and _fur_ against the small of his back. His skin broke out in goosebumps. His shirt pulled free of his pants and was dragged up under his armpits. No, no. Derek wasn’t going to get at his belly that easily. He abandoned trying to scramble away in favor of getting his shirt down again. The barrier was mostly symbolic, but he daren’t yield anything at this point.

For a moment Stiles belly felt tightly pinched as he was lifted off the ground by his belt. Then the pressure was off, and he fell back to the earth with a thud. Stiles rolled out from under the beast and crab walked until he had the tree at his back again.

His whirring mind caught on another idea. He grabbed his remaining shoe and yanked it off his foot. “Here wolf! Fetch!” he said and threw the shoe as far as he could into the bushes. “Go get it!”

While the alpha’s head followed the trajectory of the shoe, Stiles stood up and dashed away in the other direction. One last push. One last chance.

* * *

For just the tiniest second, Derek was actually tempted to fetch the damn shoe. To his credit, he’d just been so surprised by the tactic that his human side blanked out and wondered why Stiles was throwing his clothes away. His wolf side just liked pouncing on and exploring moving things. He’d actually turned around and bounded a step towards the bush the shoe had landed in, when he heard the sound of his true prey running away again. And then it all came crashing down on him exactly what Stiles had said and what he was doing.

Angry, Derek flipped around and took off after him. Stiles had barely even gotten his feet under him when Derek bowled into him, shoving him down onto his scraped hands and sock covered feet.

No more nice wolf. It was time to end this. He’d brought Stiles out here to give him the bite, not to play games, and the bite was what Stiles was going to get. 

Before Stiles could recover, Derek caught hold of the waist of Stiles jeans with his teeth and began yanking him across the forest floor again. If he could drag Stiles chest across the ground, his shirt would ride up and give Derek access to his bare side. But it seemed as if Stiles was determined not to let that happen, using one hand to keep his shirt yanked to his stomach and the other to grasp a loop of exposed root to hold him in place.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Stiles was saying, though Derek knew he wasn’t really hurting him.

Derek splayed his paws out to either side of Stile’s long, gawky legs. His claws bit deep into the clay. He let go of the back of Stile’s belt long enough to adjust the grip with his teeth, then he yanked _hard_. For a moment the tug of war appeared to be a draw. Then Derek felt the pants give to his pressure, slipping past Stile’s hips and knees and almost to his ankles before Derek let go.

Stiles boxers had been dragged a good way down his thighs in the tussle, leaving his buttocks bare and round and terribly pale, like the inviting glow of the full moon. 

Well, this works. Derek grinned inwardly, then sank his teeth quite nicely into a firm, sweet, virginal cheek.

* * *

Stiles was not sure he ever wanted to move again. He could just stay here, under this maple tree, breathless, defeated, bleeding, forever. It was over. Why had he thought he could hang out with fucking werewolves and not get dragged all the way in? He should have run away the first time he saw Derek, like any sensible person would have. And Scott would have been able to handle things just as well without him. Scott was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for. 

But no. Stiles was curious. And curiosity gets you bitten in the ass. How undignified was that? Of all the places on the body Derek could have picked to bite, he went for the one that would invite the most jokes. And it had hurt a hell of a lot more than Stiles had thought it would.

Once Derek had done his deed, he’d turned back to human and sat next to Stiles, looking unbearably smug. Which well he should be. He’d gotten his way. Stiles opened his eyes again, and yep, there was good old naked Derek, leaning against the tree trunk, looking like he could really go for a cigarette about now. _Was it good for you too?_

No, don’t listen to the person who helps you all the time, for free! Just go ahead and treat him like a rump roast. Chow down on that delicious ham. You’re the alpha. You deserve it. 

That’s what he was probably thinking. He was probably not thinking that a man’s ass wasn’t just a yummy meal or some nice decoration to stare at. That it was used for such _useful_ things as walking and sitting. Because the thing about turning werewolf is it didn’t just happen, snap, like that. It took its own sweet time. So here Stiles was, exhausted, hurt, face pressed against a tree root, his butt burning and itching while his balls rested against the freezing, slimy mulch. He’d pull up his pants, except his butt felt the size of a beach ball and he couldn’t stand anything touching Derek’s fucking bite mark.

So he was just going to stay like this forever. Mooning the damn forest.

“You’ve stopped bleeding,” Derek said, casually. “Do you want to try walking back to the house? It’s more comfortable there.” 

Stiles refused to answer. If Derek had really cared about his comfort, he wouldn’t have _bitten him._ And how was he going to tell Scott this? He’d totally make hay out of all the freudian implications. Saying things like “this is closest Derek has come to getting a piece of ass since Kate.” Stiles snickered.

“That sounds better.”

Stiles stopped snickering. “It’s not. I’m still mad at you.”

“I figured you would be,” said Derek. “You’ll get over it.” 

That made Stiles madder. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get over being a werewolf. I don’t think that’s one of those things you get over — because god knows I’ve done enough research trying to cure Scott. This is like herpes. You’ve given me herpes.” He pressed his eyes closed and resisted the idea of suffocating himself in the mud.

“It’s not herpes,” said Derek, sounding just a bit annoyed. “The pain should be receding. Open your eyes and look around. You should be seeing better already. I’m starting to feel a connection to you.”

Stiles didn’t want to open his eyes. He wanted to lie down and be mad, but he was starting to feel a connection to Derek as well. As much as he wanted to believe that Derek didn’t give a flying fuck about his feelings, that he was some kind of psychopath, Stiles could tell that the alpha did. He could tell that Derek fell guilty as fuck, but also completely unrepentant, which gosh, was a great combo. Some part of him wanted to soothe away the guilt, which was even more fucked up.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” _Walk it off_ Yeah. No.

“I don’t have my shoes,” said Stiles petulantly.

He felt Derek change, which was weird in itself. Suddenly there was all this wolfiness in his head. If Stiles had been human he’d have panicked and worried that Derek was planning on mauling him for his attitude, but now he knew that Derek just wanted to track down Stiles missing things quicker. Sure enough he came sauntering back less than five minutes later with both Stile’s shoes in one hand and his phone in the other. He placed them on the ground next to Stiles, who did nothing.

“Pull up your pants, Stiles,” said Derek.

“No. You did this. You get to look at it.”

Derek chuckled. “It’s not a bad view. I just thought you might still feel modest.” Stiles felt warm roll of lust through the bond. Which surprised the heck out of Stiles because he had been pretty sure up to now that he’d been the only one harboring dirty thoughts in their relationship. But right now sex was about as far from Stiles mind as possible. He had enough on his plate to deal with.

Stiles pulled up his pants. He winced as the bite was rubbed, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Apparently the bite was taking faster than it had for Scott. So much for making a stand on that issue. Stiles wasn’t even sure how to fight it.

Even with his eyes closed, he was starting to get the full sensory loveliness that was being a werewolf. Smells became more intense, focused, and powerful. It’s not that things stank worse, thank god, but he was getting more _detail_ out of what he smelled. Part of him wanted to start crawling around on all fours shoving his nose into things, because, Jesus, there was a lot of smells here that he had never noticed before. Like how many types of fungus were growing on this root under his face.

It was all seriously starting to distract him from his angry funk. Stiles wanted to start talking about how massively cool and weird it all was and what everything meant. It was only his vow to himself to stay mad at Derek that was keeping his mouth still.

In the silence, Derek started talking. Weird. Derek had never opened up to Stiles before, but now he seemed to just unleash this flood of words. All about a reoccurring dream that involved biting Stiles and everyone being naked in one big orgy in a basement. Kinky.

Through the bond, Stiles felt Derek’s longing. Stiles ached back, much as he really didn’t want to. It was hard to stay unsympathetic when someone was in your head, flooding you with their feelings. Maybe Derek was just so inarticulate because growing up he never really needed to talk, he just used this pack bond thingie to express himself.

“Teen pregnancy is a bad idea,” Stiles chimed in, against his will. “Can’t you wait until they are married before sleep-knocking Allison up?”

Derek perked up, as if he hadn’t been sure Stiles was listening to him. “I know. It’s a silly idea.”

Stiles snickered, thinking of Chris Argent’s face at the idea of having were-grandchildren. Come to think of it, Chris had probably already thought of that. It was probably why he hated Scott so much.

“Is it so wrong to want this, Stiles?” Derek asked, sadly. “A home. A pack. Family. Everyone safe and happy?”

Vow of silence, vow of silence, don’t give him comfort … oh, who was he kidding. Stiles and the silent treatment just were fundamentally incompatible. Between Derek’s feelings and his inner wolf, he just couldn’t sustain it. 

He opened his eyes. “Wrong to want? No. Wrong to force it, yes.” Stiles sat up and flexed, feeling all his muscles stretching pleasantly. The bite had faded to a slight lingering itch. Boy when the werewolf thing finally kicked in, it really kicked in. He wondered how strong he was.

“I’ve tried not forcing it,” Derek growled. “I’ve tried not _wanting_ it. But I’m just left with this miserable mess.”

“You need help,” said Stiles, patiently. “But not from Peter. Peter’s poison. Listen to him and he’ll steer you wrong every time.” 

“I need help from you.”

And that’s when it all came crashing back on Stiles. Being kidnapped. Chased. Bitten. All so that Derek could get even _more_ from Stiles than Stiles had already freely and repeatedly given. Anger surged back up. No. Just fucking no. Stiles had his limits and Derek had breached them about two miles back. 

He growled at Derek. His first, honest to god werewolf growl. He felt the claws descend, but then with the strength of will he pulled them back, because he wanted to make sure that Derek fully understood what he was saying. 

“You want my help. Well that’s just tough, you aren’t going to get it. Before the bite, sure. Now, no way. You don’t get to shit on me this way, bite my ass, then expect me to roll over and be your beta. I don’t know what you thought you’d get by doing this Derek, because I told you what I’d do.” 

“I’m your alpha,” said Derek, sternly, as though his approval mattered.

“No. You are nothing. We are not pack. I refuse.” Stiles began pushing against the bond between them, rejecting it with all his might. At this point he was mad enough that he didn’t care if he turned into a kamina. The bond weakened, thinned. Derek’s feelings became muffled and distant. It hurt, but no more than everything else hurt. It was cathartic, because it was the one thing that Stiles could win. Derek got his victory but Stiles could make sure it was a Pyrrhic one.

“Stiles, stop,” said Derek, leaning forward. “Don’t.”

Stiles pulled away mentally more, felt the connection began to thin, deaden, dull. Even as it did so he felt the sharp uptick in Derek’s fear as the alpha in him weakened. With grim satisfaction he saw the dread settle on Derek’s face when he finally realized that he’d made a mistake and pissed away their friendship.

“Stiles, I’m sorry!”

“Not sorry enough,” said Stiles. Stiles wiped the tears away from his cheeks and didn’t feel the least bit unmanly about it when he saw how much the gesture hurt Derek. “You are right — this is a mess, but it’s your mess not mine. I’m going, Derek. If I have to be a werewolf, and you made pretty damn sure I do, at least I can pick my alpha. I’m going to Scott. I’m not going to help you build your ridiculous dream of us all happy and content and yours — because you have to earn that sort of thing. And you don’t deserve it. You really don’t.” 

He grabbed his phone off the dirty ground, got up and began walking away through a thoroughly unrecognizable, alien world.

* * *

Derek remained where he was for he wasn’t sure how long. Hours. It was very dark. It had rained for a while and he was wet, then the rain passed and he dried. And the situation still remained. Everything was ashes. Bitterness. He’d had a moment of pure happiness, a moment when he thought he had Stiles as his and the dream could actually happen. And the it was gone and Stiles was farther than ever. Only the thinnest strand of connection remained between them. It was like his dreams, only made worse by the fact that it was reality.

He smelled Peter long before the other spoke. The sweet tang of rottenness and decay. Felt him creeping through the soft earth behind him.

“Go away,” he said at last.

“You seem so sad, Derek. Did it not work out the way you hoped?” There was just enough mocking in the tone to drive a nail through Derek’s heart.

“Of course it didn’t. He didn’t want it. He fought me. And I lost him.”

“Oh no,” said Peter stepping out behind the trees, smiling. “Not lost. He’ll be ours. They all will be soon enough.”

“Never. Go away, Peter. Every thing you say is worthless. Go away and be dead already.”

But Peter didn’t go away. He came closer then put out his hand to Derek as though to lift him up. His eyes glowed brilliant blue. “Come along Derek, all’s not lost. I’ll help you. You’ll have Stiles, and Scott, and even that Argent girl, too, if you want. We’ll track down Erica and Boyd and bring them back. You’ll have them all. Your dream and mine.”

“Impossible.” Derek wiped tears of anger and frustration from his eyes. He wanted to tear his own guts out. “Lies.”

“Give me your hand,” said Peter, and there was a sudden forcefulness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Derek wavered, a feeling of fear suddenly cutting a swath through his depression and remorse. “Give me your hand now, Derek and I’ll give you everything. Believe just this one last time, it’s all you have to do.”

No, part of him thought. No, don’t. But even as he thought that, he reached his hand out and grasped Peter’s. He felt Peter’s grip close about and the sudden yank pull him to his feet so that they stood face to face. Derek felt a yearning hope, that it perhaps it wasn’t a lie this time around. Perhaps there was some truth in Peter’s words, because Derek had no idea how to go on. He couldn’t see a way out. There was nothing left. Nothing at all.

Peter embraced him. And Derek accepted the gesture, remembering that this was his uncle, the man who had played with him as a child, who had taught him and guided him and cared for him. Who had, very briefly, been his alpha. Now Peter patted his bare back and soothed him with his voice.

But not with his words. “You’ll have your dream, I’ll make sure of it, but there’s a price. First you have to give me something.”

“Anything,” said Derek, desperate. Broken. Anything to stop feeling this way, he thought. “Anything.”

“Give me your alpha.”

Derek stiffened. He tried to pull away, suddenly realizing the danger. But he couldn’t. Peter was too strong. How had he gotten so strong? He wasn’t even in beta form. Too late Derek remembered that Peter was something else. Something new. Something he should have researched but for some reason hadn’t. There’d never been time. Always one disaster or another to attend to. 

For the first time, Derek realized that Peter was connected to him. There was a bond that wasn’t Alpha or Beta but a perversion, like the bond between kamina and master. For the briefest moment, Peter even saw how Peter was feeding him despair and desperation through that connection, and had been for some time, from the moment he’d helped Lydia raise Peter from the grave. 

Stiles was right — He’s poison, chipping away at Derek’s soul bit by bit through the months until this moment.

Derek struggled. His claws ripped through Peter’s oxford shirt and the skin of his back. His hands grew sticky with blood, but Peter just ignored the pain. He held Derek in a bear hug, heart to heart, as though trying to force them to merge. Derek began to feel something passing out of himself. Although Peter hadn’t so much as scratched him, he felt weaker and weaker, his bond with Isaac fading, Stiles gone. Until there was nothing but the one between him and Peter, whatever the hell he was.

“It took some time to weaken your spirit enough for me to do this,” said Peter at last. “The little fits of anger and despair at inappropriate moments. The dreams, yes, that was me, too. You’re a fighter and you don’t give up easy, but you can’t fight me off now. You are all worn out. Time to submit.”

Derek gave a last try to wrest away from the grip, but it felt hopeless. He didn’t even have his beta claws anymore. Nothing but soft, rounded fingers and human strength. Great weight and weariness made all his movements feel like fighting wet cement.

“Shh, shh. Don’t be afraid. You don’t need to fight, let it go,” Peter went on in that same kind, gentle voice that had given him so much terrible advice. “I’m only taking back what is mine, what I let you borrow for a time. I’m going to be the Alpha now. Let’s face it, you really were miserable at it. But I can be a damn good Alpha, you’ll see. Shh. I’m done hurting you, Derek. No more punishment for turning against me, killing me. We are square. I will keep my word about our pack, on that you really can trust me. All of it, all of them, I’ll give to you, my precious nephew. My beta. My boy.”

Peter let him go and Derek stumbled to the ground. Above him, glowing in the dark were two red eyes. Derek felt his wolf latch on with a mixture of horror and hope.

“Now,” said Alpha Peter with satisfaction. “Let’s get our pack back.”


End file.
